Parenthood 101

If you’re thinking about having kids, but aren’t sure…I’d highly recommend getting a dog. I do not have children, and don’t intend on having any in the immediate future, and don’t claim to be an expert on parenting. After this past weekend with the dog, however, I believe I’ve earned a few gold stars towards my “competent parent” badge. 

Sheely and Luke seem to have conspired against me, so that every time Luke is unavoidably detained (on call at the hospital, or out of town) she gets seriously ill, and I end up calling the emergency line at the animal hospital.

This past week, Luke was in Florida for a conference. While I was out having dinner and drinks with some friends, Sheely decided to nuzzle her way into a closed bag and pull out a container full of Mentos gum (the economy size, 50 pieces container, nonetheless) and consume who knows how many pieces. My first reaction upon coming home was to yell at her for the mess, pick up the 10 pieces of gum that were scattered across the floor, and assume that she’d “pass” the rest of the gum. Then I decided to check online just to make sure it wasn’t anything serious.

Well, turns out it was serious. Like “your dog could experience seizures, liver failure, or death if you don’t get it out of her system ASAP,” serious. Apparently the xylitol in sugar-free gum is toxic to dogs. So I spent the next half hour force feeding my poor puppy hydrogen peroxide and making her vomit. I’ll spare you the details of how I had to make sure the pieces of gum had made it out of her system. By the time that was all cleaned up it was 1:00am and she seemed to be acting normal, so I considered the treatment a success and we fell asleep together on the couch.

Cut to two days later - a completely unrelated incident: Sheely destroys a pillow. No big deal. Dogs tear apart pillows and cushions all the time, right? Again, I just yelled at her and swore to myself that she isn’t mature enough to be out in the house alone yet, and that she was going to go back into her crate while we’re gone. The next day, I notice that she has thrown up, several times, while I was at work. I soon discover that she cannot keep any food down, and that something is seriously wrong…again.

This particular incident cost us two vet visits, two sets of x-rays, an alarming “there’s something obstructing your dog’s intestines and her stomach is in the wrong place” and a $500 bill. Apparently she not only chewed up the pillow, but was dumb enough to try to eat half of it, blocking anything that she ate afterward. Luckily we didn’t have to resort to surgery, but she’s on medicine and a bland diet for a week.

After saving her life twice within a week’s time, I’m ready to never go back to the vet’s office again. Also, I’ve learned that she is obviously not ready to wear big-girl pants and prance around the house all day by herself. She may be a teenager in dog years, but she is definitely more akin to a toddler in her "terrible twos."

Despite the panic and squeamish gagging this dog has put me through this week, I still love her unconditionally, and I have to thank her for being the best birth control anyone could have ever invented.